


Any Price

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series. Peter Venkman doesn't put a lot of stock in the whole "friend" thing. Fellow student Egon Spengler resolves to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Price

First published in  _Ghostwriters_ (2000)

 

It was bound to happen sooner or later.

The week had already been among the lousier ones of Peter Venkman’s life, and that was saying a lot. His mom was sick, yet again, but he couldn’t pry himself away from school to see her with less than a week to go before finals. A call to his dad had netted--big surprise!--no success in tracking the conman down. On top of that, two of the psych major’s upcoming exams were both crucial and tough, the kind for which all-day study sessions seemed scant preparation. As if he could indulge like that. There was work to consider, the covert parttime job Peter slaved at in order to at least pull ends closer together, if not exactly making them meet.   There were year-end football games that, being a member of the team, he had to be at. And as if that weren’t enough, there was always his image to maintain, the carefree, all-night-partying frat brother reputation he’d carefully cultivated. Peter had no intention of letting anyone see him studying or taking school seriously and guess there was more to him than met the eye.

Stretched that thin, maybe it was only natural that he was less resilient than usual. Or more likely, maybe it had just been time for what he’d expected all along to happen.

Egon Spengler was the one person on campus with whom Peter didn’t feel embarrassed to study, the older physics student apparently quite uninterested in Venkman’s image or reputation. It had taken Peter most of the year to start to accept that a person like that could be for real, let alone put any trust in the blond, but slowly something had built between them. Egon called it friendship. Peter...Peter wasn’t sure yet what to call it. But without question, Egon Spengler was the only person outside his mom with whom Peter ever let his guard down, even if only briefly.

Regardless, Peter had some standards to maintain, such as studying to rock music playing in the background. Egon would frown at him but didn’t seem to mind, maybe even enjoyed it a bit. That was the other reason Peter did stuff like that; he got a kick out of seeing the serious scientist loosen up a little. Egon was a lot more than he seemed on the surface, too.

That day though, Peter had cranked up the loud music, needing it just to keep his eyes open, the strain and long hours beginning to wear on him. It was still a real effort to keep focused on the swimming page before his eyes, but he’d thought he’d been putting up a good act.

But Spengler, who could ignore a nuclear blast when in the middle of one of his experiments, was damnably perceptive the rest of the time, especially where Peter was concerned. Much to Venkman’s consternation. He’d already ignored several of the blond’s long, considering looks, pretending immersion in the book he wasn’t reading.

It didn’t work.

“Peter, this exam is only eight days away. If you continue to keep the long hours you have been lately, you’ll have a difficult time passing, let alone with a good grade.”

There had been an edge of concern in the deep voice, the same concern that glinted in the blue eyes that watched him, but Peter didn’t want to hear it. “I’ll do fine, don’t worry about that,” he’d brushed the blond off. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

Spengler’s eyebrow arched Spock-like. “‘A little tired’? You’re ready to fall asleep on your books.”

Having someone notice, let alone maybe care, how you were doing was a good feeling no matter how independent you were, and Peter was no exception, but he was really in no mood to go into this now. “I’m all right, Egon. Don’t worry about it.”

Maybe the physicist felt stubborn or maybe he really was that worried, but he shut his book and leaned forward, heedlessly pressing on. “Is your reputation for ‘fun’ really important enough to risk your studies and your health over? Peter, I can understand your wanting to keep people at a distance, but this--”

That had been the wrong button to press, one of the most sensitive ones Peter had. Coming from anyone else it would have been grounds for a sock in the mouth, but from Egon it hurt more than angered. Peter’s face flushed with wounded defensiveness and he growled back, “You’re a good one to talk, Spengler. Always using those dollar words, your nose stuck in a book. Who’s the one really hiding from the world, huh?”

But his words hadn’t been defensive, they’d been cold and ugly, and Spengler recoiled as if Peter _had_ hit him. In a way he knew he had, with words instead of fists. Peter caught his lip in his teeth, part of him already regretting what he said.

He could almost see Spengler mentally withdraw, retreating toward the safety of his own walls, and his heart sank a little lower. “Building a strong foundation in science is hardly ‘hiding’, Peter,” Egon said evenly. And still he tried once more, why he did so as unfathomable to Peter as why he’d bothered with Venkman to begin with. “But if something is wrong, perhaps I could help.”

And therein lay Peter’s second weakness--his pride. He hadn’t needed anyone’s help so far and he sure didn’t now. Peter shot to his feet. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Egon? Have everybody know Peter Venkman came crawling to you for help. Well, forget it. I don’t need your help, so why don’t you just go back to your test tubes and equations?” Oh, God, this was coming out all wrong. Egon would never even talk to him again after this, let alone... But then, that was what Peter had expected all along. Friendship was a crock and he’d known it. His face hardened like Egon’s.

Spengler also stood and stiffly began to gather his books. “Those ‘test tubes and equations’ certainly have a considerably greater future than honing your ‘partying skills’ do,” he said, voice now sterilized of all worry.  

“At least I’m living life and enjoying it instead of avoiding it. It’s called feeling, Spengler, something you wouldn’t know much about, would you?”

A direct hit. Even through the blond’s practiced stoicism, Peter had still seen the flash of hurt, and despite his intentions something in him mourned at why they were doing this to each other. Egon had become more of a friend to him than anyone else Peter had known in all his life. And yet from the very first day he’d been suspicious of Spengler, too, knowing that no one could be trusted that much, waiting for the physicist to turn on him and let his true feelings come out as they apparently had now. Peter had been right.

The door closed sharply behind the physicist, and Peter sank back into the chair. Somehow it didn’t feel like a victory at all.

Peter Venkman had never known exactly what to make of fellow Columbia student Egon Spengler. At first glance, he’d been ready to write off the senior physics major as the stereotypical egghead he seemed. Spengler didn’t seem to know--or condescend to use--any words shorter than four syllables at least, and was always first in line to answer any question posed by Professor Tollson. Privately, Peter knew most of the answers too, but he would have never been as square as to be obvious about it. Spengler, however, appeared to enjoy being an egghead. Definitely not Venkman’s type.

And then Spengler had made a joke. A darned subtle one, too, but perversely funny. And no one in the class got it except Peter.

Maybe there was more to the egghead than met the eye. Peter was determined to find out what.

Thus had begun the strangest friendship the brunet had ever known. Actually, considering that they weren’t bound by sports or the fraternity or a mutual interest in cruising for girls, it was the _only_ real friendship, the kind based on simply _liking_ each other, that Peter had ever experienced.

Trouble was, he didn’t always know what to do with that kind of friend.

He’d played it cool at first, the usual hip remarks and safe topics that worked with the rest of the guys he hung out with. Never get deep, never show vulnerability, never let anyone see the real you; his father had taught him well. His buddies usually didn’t see his sarcasm and wryness for what it was, but that was fine with him.

Spengler, however, didn’t fall for it. The bluffs didn’t bluff him at all, and, through his own sincerity and openness, he quietly elicited more from Peter. Sometimes more than Venkman wanted to share. And yet, in spite of Peter’s uneasiness, his new friend never took advantage of him or threw anything back in his face.

It was enough to make even a cynical old soul like him think.   

And so things had begun to change, gradually, sometimes painfully. Peter wasn’t about ready to stake his life on Spengler, but there was a possibility there he couldn’t just turn his back on either, one worth taking a chance on. At least until Spengler disappointed him, too. Well, it could be fun while it lasted. The physicist had a great sense of humor but had never had a chance--didn’t even know how, it seemed--to use it. Peter was enjoying teaching the egghead how to be a kid. And Egon was teaching him...well, something important. Venkman just wasn’t quite sure what yet. Something that felt kinda nice when he was honest enough with himself, very deep down, to admit it.

He should have known it would be too good to last.

The rest of the evening had been kind of a blur after that. His roommate had returned a while later with talk of a party, but Peter couldn’t even summon the will to play along that evening, begging off with a lie of having a date. It meant he couldn’t stay there, of course, and had soon gone out, finding himself wandering off campus and into the city, thinking as he walked, until he was too tired to do any more of either. He’d slipped in the back door of the frat house and fallen asleep to the sounds of the festivities going on on the floor below.

_You should never have let him get to you like that._

The chiding thought was what Peter woke up with the next morning, and the anger it kindled gave him the energy to climb out of bed and face the day.

_Should have known better--I_ do _know better._ “ _Friends” are just excuses to get close enough to a guy to make him vulnerable and hurt him when they get tired and moved on._

Peter knew that, and still he’d let himself get fooled into thinking that Spengler was different. He’d grown to care what the older student thought of him and believed he’d felt a reciprocal care from the blond toward him, but it was all an act. _Honing your partying skills_ \--that still stung. And that would be the price he’d pay for his stupidity, that he’d let Egon get close enough to hurt him. Badly.

_That’s not even the worst part,_ Peter raged at himself as he got ready for work. _The worst part of it is you’re too stupid to stop, even now._

The memory of Egon’s flinch, the genuine pain Peter had seen in his face, was almost worse than his own misery. Maybe there was no such thing as real friendship, but Egon Spengler had at least been a decent man, and Peter couldn’t seem to be indifferent about how Egon felt.

_Double whammy--’s not enough he gets to me with what he said, he gets to me by how he reacted to what_ I _said. It’s just not worth it to...care?...about people._

Peter winced, slamming the room door behind him.

_Sucker._ That was what he was, a sucker worthy of his one of his dad’s marks.

The late fall wind bit, reddening Peter’s face and making him slouch into his jacket. His frat brothers had sympathized with his “misfortune” at having to be out all day at an early and a late class, not knowing Peter really spent those morning hours busing tables at a nearby coffeeshop, one not frequented by the college crowd.  

Egon knew he worked there, had found out Peter’s secret by accident a few months before. Venkman had expected at least a little good-natured ribbing about the menial work, but there had been none forthcoming. That didn’t seem to be Spengler’s way. Until the evening before.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard. _Dumb, you’re being dumb. We’ve only known each other since fall term the year before; who is he to you?_

It was stupid...but it still hurt. The same hollowness was there in his gut that had been before he’d gotten to know Egon, but Peter hadn’t felt it then. Now, he knew the difference. Like it or not, Egon had become his friend, his first real friend, and the loss...no, not just loss, the betrayal of that had wrenchingly emptied all that hollow space inside him again. And that was worse than never having had a friend in the first place.

_Nothing’s worth bleeding this much for._

He kept on toward the coffeeshop, determined not to think about the whole thing. And of course, the stinging of his eyes was just from the crisp wind.

The eminent Dr. Spengler had once told his son that some pursuits were worth any price. The adage, like so many other that the scientist passed on to his son in lieu of real conversation, was meant to be applied to science, to those pursuits that didn’t come easily but were worth working for. Egon had little doubt that his father wouldn’t have included in that science the paranormal studies that had recently fascinated his son. And he was certain the older man wouldn’t have considered friendship a worthy goal.

And yet there was a relevance. Egon Spengler had never considered social life or friends a priority of college life, and had been content for his first two years at Columbia without either. And then he’d met Peter Venkman.

Granted, Peter was not an easy person to meet. They seemed to have some odd interests in common and so they had shared more than one class, but the outspoken, brash brunet was not the kind of person Egon looked for to be friends with. Until a bit of a closer look revealed well-hidden and rather intriguing layers to the man Spengler hadn’t suspected at first. The puzzle made the scientist in Egon curious--why would a person with Peter Venkman’s intelligence and emotional depth choose to live the frivolous, superficial life he did?

Science had only provided so many answers, though. Egon had managed to learn a little over time about his tight-lipped classmate, enough to conjecture reasonably about why Peter put on the act that he did. Beyond that was prying into personal affairs, something Egon had no intention of doing But...it hadn’t ended there.

Egon had had a few friends growing up, like-minded children with whom he could discuss interesting matters while the rest of the _kids_ went to play ball. But he’d had no attachment to them, no desire to know what they were thinking, or to worry if they were well, or to have a personal stake in their well-being. He’d never laughed or shared secrets with them. And, frankly, he’d never missed it.

Peter was different. He’d made it his mission nearly from the start to introduce Egon to Peter’s idea of “fun,” a trip Egon only halfheartedly protested going on. Venkman had come after Egon when illness kept the blond from attending class and gave him a hand until Egon was back on his feet. He’d listened when, for the first time in his life, Egon found himself talking about his home and family and childhood, and then reminisced--briefly--about his own. And Egon knew what a rare thing that was. Those flashes of trust, of testing the waters between them, was what had decided for Egon once and for all that he’d found the first true friend of his life.

And then had come the argument.

Egon sighed, pushing up his glasses as the exhalation slipped them down his nose. He should have them tightened...he should listen to the professor, actually, Egon chastised himself, but for once he couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts on the lecture. The previous night’s argument weighed heavily on his mind.

He’d never meant to push Peter that hard--Egon had learned a long time ago that doing so only caused the psychology student to clam up even tighter. The angry explosion of the night before had been unexpected nevertheless. Egon had only been concerned about Peter, who looked more pale and exhausted than Spengler had ever seen him. The blond understood the life his friend lived even if he didn’t approve of it, but outright self-destructiveness was not something he could let go without comment, regardless. He’d expected the joking brush-offs in response, but not the furious lashing out and the personal attacks.

They’d hurt at first, of course; it was also one of the things he was learning about the whole matter of friendship. The words of a friend cut far more deeply than those of any stranger or acquaintance or even than Egon had ever let his father get to him. That was a cost of friendship Egon hadn’t known he’d have to pay.

But it had been costlier for Peter. For even through his own defensiveness, Egon had seen the desperate look in Venkman’s eyes. Spengler had not enjoyed their argument at all, but Peter had been downright anguished. He’d made sure he wasn’t easy to hurt--he never let anyone get close enough--but Egon had that power now and had unwittingly used it. Was their friendship worth pursuing at the price of being able to inflict pain like that?

But some pursuits were worth any price...

With the distance of time, Egon had begun to suspect that he’d made a serious miscalculation. Peter could be teasing or unthinking, but he was never deliberately cruel. Which meant there was probably more to his reaction than simply fatigue or defensiveness about his lifestyle. Illness, Egon reflected, or maybe some personal crisis. And what had he done to help? Fired acidly back and then walked out, probably confirming all of Peter’s suspicions about the unreliability of people. He had been a fool, Egon shook his head, a shortsighted fool, and had probably cost himself the one good friend he had.

And that was an even higher price, one Egon would not pay if he could help it.

He glanced at his watch, noting the class would be over in three minutes, as would Peter’s morning shift. If Egon hurried, maybe he could catch his friend at the dorm when Peter returned there for his books, before he left for class.

The professor called time, and for once, Egon Spengler was the first one out the door.

Nobody at Phi Kappa Nu gave him a second glance anymore; Egon knew they thought he hung around Peter to try to be popular, but that didn’t matter to him. He had no image to worry about maintaining, and wouldn’t interfere with Peter’s carefully cultivated one. It was one of the tentative, unspoken bonds between them. One of what had been slowly becoming many.

Impatient at the distracting thought, Egon turned and headed up the stairs, toward the room Peter shared with a considerably larger fellow football teammate. The confrontation wouldn’t be easy and Egon fought temptation to let his steps lag, but this was important. Far more so than the lecture on particle acceleration he was missing to come here instead. Determination--maybe even a little desperation--firmed his resolve and his stride up the staircase.

The hall was quiet, most of its occupants either at class or sleeping, no one around to see him as he stopped at the third door down and knocked.

There had been a good chance Peter wouldn’t be in, either not back yet from the coffeeshop or already on his way to class, but that became a moot point as rattling noises became audible from inside the room. Egon didn’t let himself lean forward to listen, instead standing stiffly and uncertainly. He still wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say.

The door was suddenly thrown open with an irritated “What?!” And then Peter saw who it was and froze, eyes wide. First surprised, then suspicious.

“Peter. I’d like to speak to you for a moment,” Egon said solemnly.

“Come back to finish the job?” Peter said scathingly, then almost looked like he regretted the words. He abruptly shrugged, turning away from the open door. “Sure, whatever.”

Egon entered tentatively, shutting the door behind him and turning to watch as Peter scavenged for...something under a pile of dirty laundry. “I came to apologize for what I said last night. It was exceedingly insensitive.”

Peter’s motions slowed, then picked up again. “Doesn’t matter. You said what you thought--no law against that.” He was still intent on the pile of clothing, face hidden under a flop of brown hair, and Egon began to suspect that there was nothing in that stack of laundry besides a good excuse not to look at him.

“That’s not quite correct.” Egon was not one for hedging, but apologies didn’t come naturally to him, either. “I was angry and I said some foolish things.”

Another one-shouldered shrug. “Hey, had to come out sometime,” Peter said lightly.

Egon frowned. This wasn’t going at all well, but then, maybe he should have expected it. He had hurt a trust the night before, one he’d taken great pains to form, and that was not so easy or quick to mend.

But some pursuits were worth any price. And if their friendship was as worthwhile as Egon had come to realize it was, then he had to be able to afford the price of fixing it.

Egon sat on the closest chair, ignoring the t-shirt draped over it, to put himself closer to eye-level with Venkman. “No, Peter, it didn’t. What I said was not there all along waiting to ‘come out,’ no matter how much more comfortable it makes you feel to think so. I kept pushing because I was worried about you, and I regret I made you angry. But you know me too well, Peter Venkman, and knew also what would anger me, and I reacted in kind. We were both fools,” he said with some chagrin, “but that does not mean our friendship has been misguided all along. Why are you so intent on proving it to be so?”

Peter had stopped pawing through the clothes as Egon talked, but there was a tightness to his shoulders that made the blond brace himself. Now, green eyes that snapped with anger came up to face him. “Why? Maybe ‘cause I don’t like to be made a fool of. C’mon, Spengler, this is all a crock and you know it. We had some fun together, great. But I’m not some kind of... _charity case_ ,” he sneered the words, “you have to hold by the hand. I was doing just fine without you, you know.” Peter flung a handful of sweatpants down and climbed to his feet. “If that’s all, I have to get to class.”

Egon’s heart sank. Was that really all that had been between them, having a little fun together? He was no expert on friendships, either; maybe he’d read more into Peter’s actions than had been there in the first place. Except...

Except if that was all there was between them, he should never have known Peter Venkman well enough to catch a glimpse of deep woundedness beneath all the bravado and irritation.           

Egon’s hands curled so tightly around his books, the skin under his nails went completely white. “Charity case?” he said, voice equally strained. “You’ve become my best friend, Peter.”

Peter stared at him for a long moment, mouth ajar. And then Egon was dismayed to see his face crumple just before he spun around, his back to the blond. “Damn you, Egon Spengler,” was all he gritted out.

Egon cringed at the tone, wondering again fleetingly if this was worth it, seeing how excruciating it was for Peter, knowing how hard it was for himself. _Any price_ seemed a glib answer in face of how much hurt he was causing. Maybe if they just dropped it now, it would be easiest for everyone.

_And he’ll probably never let anyone else get that close ever again._ The thought hit suddenly, and Egon had to admit it was probably true for him, too. His pursuit of sciences would always seem a modicum dry now that he’d seen what else lay out there, but there was a comfort in its predictability and sterility. Peter would have it harder, retreating back to the risk-free safety of not trusting anyone. But was that really what either of them wanted to go back to?

Egon made his choice. Folding his hands on top of his books, he sat silently watching Peter’s back and waited.

“What do you want?” Peter finally said roughly, not turning around, shoulders slumped.

Egon considered that question carefully. “Your forgiveness.”

“And?”

“In time, I hope, your friendship.”

Venkman half-turned to study him, eyes too shadowed for Egon to read clearly, but his expression was more weary than suspicious. “That’s all?”

Egon cocked his head. “What else did you think?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Peter slowly shook his head, his muttered answer too low for Spengler to hear. He turned around completely, still watching Egon. And for the first time, the blond saw some very tentative, very new, but definite hope in his eyes. “I’m sorry, too,” he said quietly.

Egon doubted he’d ever heard the bold sophomore quite so hesitant, but they were both rather new at this game. But Peter was still in, and that was what mattered. He grinned in relief. Maybe they’d make it through this after all, scars and all.

Peter’s mouth suddenly quirked in answer. “So, is this gonna be this hard and soapy each time?”

_Each time._ For Peter, that was almost a commitment. Egon’s face remained impassive, only one eyebrow rising, but inside it felt like he’d won the Tallis Physics Award. “Only if I have to miss class to track you down next time again,” he said sternly.

Venkman startled, his own eyebrows going up. “You missed class? I don’t believe it. I’m not gonna let you forget that one, Egon.” But a warmth was creeping into his eyes that did Egon’s heart good to see. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going too. Uh...” he paused. “Studying tonight, your place?”

“Of course,” Egon said, rising. He still had every intention of finding out what had been bothering Peter in the first place, but this was enough soul-baring for the both of them for one time. Indeed, he doubted he’d ever seen Peter be this serious this long about anything, and knowing Venkman, it would be the last time for a while. But Egon was willing to wait. Some things were worth it.

He turned to leave. “Egon...thanks,” came softly from behind him.

Egon didn’t turn, playing it the way he knew Peter would want it. “Seven o’clock?” was all he said as he opened the door.

“I’ll be there.”

He would be. Friends always were. With deep satisfaction, Egon stepped out and shut the door behind him, hurrying on to his half-over class.  

 The End


End file.
